Coils

by Barbara Ann Wright

  “You should have known better than to try to sneak past me,” Hecate said with three voices, one normal, one a whisper, and the other a shout, though Medusa heard them all as clearly as if they spoke in her mind. A doubting voice said that maybe this wasn’t an illusion. Maybe Medea had made her think she was sneaking into some illusory place, but it had really been Hecate’s palace all along.

  Medusa ducked her head and tried to banish the thought. She bowed low, signaling for Cressida to do the same. “O Night Wandering Hecate, Friend to Persephone, Queen of the Night, we thought you enjoyed finding those who sought unexpected entrance to your home.”

  “A game I appreciate from time to time.” The triple goddess stood and descended the dais, her three forms flowing into one as she reached the floor. “Now, Daughter of Snakes, why did you bring me a living woman when I already have one?”

  “Aunt June!” Cressida said. “Please, Queen of Magic, tell me where she is!”

  Hecate’s eyes widened, but at least Cressida had remembered an epithet. If it had been the real Hecate, she might have been punished for speaking out of turn, but…

  Medusa stared at the illusion, looking for a flaw. She tried to pull Cressida back into a bow, but Cressida shrugged out of her grasp. Medusa stepped up with her, wanting to protect her. She couldn’t have her revenge without Cressida’s help, but it was more than that, as if the little time they’d spent together meant they owed each other something.

  Hecate smiled softly. “She speaks highly of you.”

  “Please let me see her, Queen of the Night. You must—”

  Hecate lifted a hand, and Cressida fell silent, but whether it was out of reverence or if she’d been robbed of her voice, Medusa didn’t know. One meant it was really Medea playing a part, but the other…

  Hecate shimmered, her form growing until she towered over them, the room darkening. “You do not order me, mortal,” she said, her voice twisting as her two other faces appeared on either side of her head.

  Cressida fell to her knees like a supplicant, laying out her arms as she should have done from the beginning if it was the real Hecate. Medusa started to sweat, uneasiness growing when Hecate returned to her one-woman shape and fixed her gaze on Medusa.

  Medusa tried another bow, wanting to hurry this up. “Please, O Wandering Hecate, will you tell us of June’s fate, though we be unworthy?” She hoped she wasn’t laying it on too thick. She doubted anyone talked that way anymore, even Hecate herself.

  “She is here, but she does not wish to go.” Hecate returned to the central throne. “I have not had a mortal lover in a god’s age.”

  Cressida’s head tilted up, and she gawked. Medusa gawked a little herself, though a god having a mortal lover was not uncommon in the old days. The Olympians had done it all the time, all of them had, even Medusa. There was something about non-deity lovers, some spark that made them irresistible, and their emotions changed so quickly, almost with no warning and often for no reason. It was like living with a burning brand.

  Still, Medusa was surprised Medea had gone with that excuse. She was part god herself and had only coupled with other god children, or so Medusa had heard. Maybe she knew something about Hecate that Medusa didn’t, a mother and daughter secret.

  “May we see her?” Medusa asked, knowing Cressida would have to see something to give her hope.

  “Of course.”

  She waved, and a doorway appeared in midair behind the thrones, showing a woman about twenty years older than Cressida. She was dressed in a white chiton and seemed surprised to find herself facing the throne room. Her hand was raised as if she’d been fixing her hair before being spirited into Hecate’s presence. It was a nice touch.

  June spotted her niece and rushed forward. “Cressida? Is that you?”

  Cressida launched to her feet and threw her arms around the false June. She was crying and wiping away the tears as if surprised to find them and in a hurry to be rid of them.

  Before Cressida could speak, June pulled back and said, “I can’t leave, Cressida.”

  “Wha…what?” Cressida frowned. “Did you eat something?”

  “No.” With a laugh, she gestured at the splendor around them. Her voice had an echoing quality that might have been because of the space or the fact that she was pure illusion. “I love it here.”

  “But, June, your family, your friends?”

  Medusa heard the heartbreak in her voice, and it plucked at an echoing sadness inside her.

  Hecate waved, and June disappeared. Cressida, to her credit, didn’t babble or shout or burst into tears. Her eyes widened, and she cast about as if this might be some trick. Medusa was tempted to confess right then. Nothing got to her like family angst, but the image of her sisters wouldn’t leave her. She put her hands on Cressida’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze, but she kept her mouth shut.

  *

  Cressida couldn’t believe her eyes. Had it really been June, or had it been a dream? Maybe this was all a dream, but no, she’d had that thought too many times since she’d come here. Dreams were never this clear, this linear. Well, kind of linear.

  At least they’d gotten to touch each other before June disappeared. She’d been so cold.

  “I am not in the habit of giving my playthings away,” Hecate said.

  Cressida took a deep breath and summoned every shred of finesse she’d ever had or ever thought she’d had. She couldn’t yell or make demands. She couldn’t threaten a creature like this. It was like facing down an army. She had to do it just so, had to project the right air of obsequiousness and confidence. “What is your will, O Hecate?”

  “Perhaps a tribute, Queen of the Night?” Medusa asked.

  Hecate leaned her chin on one fist. “A tribute? Would you slaughter a calf for me, living girl?”

  Cressida thought quickly on where she would get a cow and came up empty. Did calf spirits wind up in the Underworld? People ate here. She’d seen restaurants and bars. Maybe if someone thought hard enough about one, it simply appeared. “Goddess, I would find a way.”

  Hecate laughed. Medusa touched Cressida’s wrist, and they both bowed again. Cressida couldn’t stop thinking of June, how distant she’d seemed. She hadn’t smelled like anything. Maybe she’d recently bathed, or she’d already been here too long. If she didn’t want to leave, that had to mean something had been done to her; Hecate had changed her in some way.

  Unless June was just that much in love. As far as Cressida knew, June had never fallen so hard, but if anyone could inspire such feelings, it was a goddess. Cressida peeked at Hecate, who didn’t seem as smitten if she was willing to trade June away. If the love didn’t go both ways that might make it easier to convince June to leave once Cressida had her back. She hated the idea of breaking June’s heart, but better to spirit her away rather than leave her here until Hecate eventually tired of her. Gods and goddesses weren’t known for their loyalty.

  “I think we can do better than a simple sacrifice,” Hecate said. “Let’s have an old-fashioned quest.” She paused, and the silence lingered long enough that an ache developed in Cressida’s bowed back.

  Medusa sighed, a tiny sound, but Cressida glanced at her, wondering if it was smart to show impatience. In the old tales, gods were always asking for something, and whether or not they honored their half of any deal depended on the god, but it wasn’t wise to push, ever. People did so at their peril.

  “What must we do?” Medusa asked.

  Hecate appeared at her side at an instant, lifting her with one finger under the chin. “You have too much irreverence, Daughter of Snakes. Your sharp tongue may serve you well on the streets, but in my domain you will obey, and you will do it gladly!”

  Medusa cast her eyes to the ground. “Yes, O Wandering Hecate.”

  Cressida noted her stiffening spine, though, and recalled the tales of Medusa and her sisters as demigoddesses, the gorgons with their famous tempers.

  “We will do whatever you command, Night Qu
een,” Cressida said, trying to get Hecate’s attention back on her. June had come to the Underworld first, but Cressida couldn’t help feeling as if the current situation was her fault. She’d been the one who’d agreed to do something for Adonis and then went back on her word. She’d drawn Medusa into this, never mind that Medusa wanted something from her. If she’d stuck with Adonis, this might not be happening. Maybe he would have offered Hecate some of the ambrosia, and that would have convinced her to hand June over.

  “Rise and look upon me,” Hecate said. “You will go to Tartarus and retrieve an item I want.”

  Cressida exchanged a look with Medusa as a pit opened up in her stomach. Tartarus, fantastic. Home to those who’d committed crimes against the gods, prison of the Titans and a horde of monsters. By the way Hecate stared at both of them, Cressida knew Medusa had to come, too. She hoped a quick look of contrition conveyed how sorry she was.

  Hecate was watching when Cressida looked to her, and it felt as if the whole room was holding its breath. “And what is it you require, Keeper of Keys?” Cressida whispered.

  “A weapon, the harpe of Cronos.”

  The air left Cressida like a popped balloon, and she knew she made a little sound; the others would hear, but they were lucky it wasn’t a shriek. Cronos, the father of Zeus and several other Olympians, who’d eaten his own children rather than have his power usurped. His worship was from a time before Zeus, much like Medusa’s worship, and as older gods, they were often cast as villains in the newer tales. But looking at Hecate, who was herself rumored to be one of the old gods, Cressida didn’t doubt that Cronos would be as terrible as myth painted him to be, especially if he was truly locked in Tartarus for daring to challenge his son in battle.

  And she had to go and steal his harpe, a sword with a hook on one end, a fearsome weapon, one that had nearly defeated the gods themselves. Somehow, she doubted he’d hand it over.

  To mask her dread, Cressida dropped her gaze and focused on Hecate’s shoes. They were covered in gold and jewels, very impractical, and Cressida made herself wonder how they would pinch the toes, anything to get away from this ball of dread in her stomach.

  “It’s simple, Cressida,” Hecate said. “You can retrieve the harpe, or you can go home and leave your aunt with me. And if you’re thinking of a way to steal her, remember this: unless I release her, my spells upon her will last forever, and she will pine for me until her dying day. Which would be all too soon.” She sighed dramatically. “After all, what is food and drink compared to love?”

  Anger burned through Cressida, baking dread into something more manageable. She closed her teeth on a comeback. Something about Hecate’s silence told her that a plucky heroine wouldn’t go down well at the moment. “Yes, O Night Queen.”

  “Good. And besides Medusa, you’ll have three other helpers.”

  Medusa jerked, and Cressida looked up. Hecate had turned, and Medusa was glaring at her back as if they weren’t in enough trouble already. Three people marched out of the darkness behind the throne. Cressida squinted at them, trying to make out who they might be.

  The first looked as if someone had put a Goth and a cheerleader in a blender and set it to shred. Blond ponytails with black ends hung around a pale neck, and the face set above had the heaviest eye makeup Cressida had ever seen, and she went through a bit of a Goth phase herself in high school. The newcomer wore black lace stockings, artfully torn, underneath ripped denim shorts, with a black letter jacket all chained and covered in patches. Like Cressida, she carried a backpack that fitted tight to her back as if sewn to her jacket.

  The second woman seemed incredibly normal in comparison, even bookish. She wore jeans and a brown sweater, very unobtrusive. Her long brown hair was held back in a simple clip, and brown eyes squinted out from behind large glasses.

  The third was a man dressed in the armor of the Greek military, with a breastplate and a kilt of leather strips over a chiton that ended at his knees. He wore a red cloak over it all, secured at both shoulders of his breastplate. Older than the other two by several decades, he had gray hair mixed with the brown at his temples, and lines gathered at the corners of his brown eyes. Cressida wondered if he’d gotten the memo on how everyone could dress how they wanted and appear as any age they wished. Maybe he just liked appearing older. Maybe he thought it gave him gravitas.

  “Arachne, Pandora, and Agamemnon,” Hecate said.

  Cressida’s mouth fell open after the first name, and she couldn’t close it again. She had to stop being so easily shocked. They were all famous names, and she nearly squealed like a schoolgirl. The first had challenged Athena to a weaving contest and was supposedly turned into a spider for her insolence, but apparently, the punishment hadn’t stuck.

  The second was the first woman created by the gods and was responsible for unleashing every evil in the world while making sure people retained hope. Cressida would have expected to find her in Tartarus, but the myth claimed she’d unleashed evil out of curiosity rather than malice. She certainly didn’t seem old enough to be the first woman, but maybe this was how she’d always seen herself.

  The last was the commander of the Greek army who’d laid siege to Troy in order to recover his brother’s wife Helen. Cressida had to wonder what his special skills were, what any of their special skills were. At least the first two had their own myths. Agamemnon had always had to share with larger figures.

  He bowed deeply before Hecate. “Most gracious goddess, O Night Queen, whatever your bidding might be will be both an honor and a pleasure.” He bent over her hand, giving her a look that said a great many things would be his pleasure, especially if she wanted it in private.

  Cressida recalled how he’d died: killed by his wife at the dinner table because he’d sacrificed their daughter to appease the gods before leaving for Troy. Cressida thought his wife had served him right. She wondered where his children were, each the stars of their own tragedies. Maybe they wanted nothing to do with him. Watching his oily smile, Cressida kind of hoped Hecate would turn him into a newt. Arachne rolled her eyes behind his back. Pandora just tilted her head and stared at him curiously.

  Hecate took her hand back with a patronizing smile and gestured for him to join the others. “While assisting you in your task,” she said to Medusa, “they’ll also be seeing to another of my commands.”

  Cressida bowed her head along with the others.

  “Good,” Hecate said. “Everyone but Medusa may wait outside. I have a few more words for the daughter of snakes.”

  Cressida gave Medusa a look of apology, but Medusa waved her out with a resigned look. Whatever was about to happen, perhaps she was used to it since she and Hecate knew each other. Cressida hurried from the room, not stopping to speak with the others, though she was dying to. When Tartarus had first been mentioned, she hadn’t been able to breathe through her dread, but now, even though June was still a captive, Cressida couldn’t help a jot of hope. They were on the track to getting her back, and they had plenty of legends to help them along.

  *

  “Well, slave,” Hecate said. “What have you to say for yourself besides”—she struck a pose, one hand behind her hood—“give that woman an Oscar!”

  “Cut the crap.” Medusa put her hands on her hips and glared until the face of Hecate dissolved into the still beautiful but far less majestic face of Medea.

  “I put a lot of energy into this,” Medea said as she smiled. “You owe me big.”

  Medusa gestured around her. “Who asked for the whole throne room, and those weird guards, and whatever the hell that was downstairs?”

  “A very nice, very thorough touch was what that was.” She stuck her lower lip out. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

  “All I asked for was a passable facsimile of Hecate and an illusion of the aunt.”

  “I had to make it look real!”

  “Cressida doesn’t know what looks real!”

  Medea sniffed. “I have a reputation to mai
ntain.”

  Medusa gestured around them at the empty room. “With whom? Arachne, Pandora, and Agamemnon? What the hell are they doing here?”

  Medea laughed. “After that girl is gone, and you’ve gotten what you came for, I want word to spread. I’m going to be hip deep in jobs after this. And don’t you worry about the others. They’re as fooled as your girl is. I just thought I’d get something from Tartarus since you were already going down there.”

  “That wasn’t our deal!”

  “It doesn’t change our deal. You should be happy for the help! Going to Tartarus is always dangerous.”

  Medusa sighed, not bothering to argue. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. How did you find out what the aunt looks like?”

  “Through the shade fog, darling. Any number of people have seen her. Does the human girl know what you’re really up to?”

  “She thinks I only need her to lure Perseus to Asphodel.”

  Medea sidled close. “Can you get her to do something for me? After you’re done with her, of course?”

  Medusa eyed her up and down, a protective urge rearing inside her. “Sorry, you’ll have to bargain with her on your own.”

  “You couldn’t ask for me after all the trouble I went to?”

  Medusa felt anger slipping over her, sliding under her skin, the serpent threatening to break through. “I didn’t ask for all this!”

  “All right, all right. No reason to get angry.” She smiled. “My snaky friend.”

  “I should petrify you just for that.”

  Chapter Six

  Cressida fought the urge to gawk at the legends around her. Arachne was examining her fingernails, while Pandora stared with the unabashed innocence of someone who’d never understood the concept of rudeness and wasn’t about to start. Cressida considered saying something about how staring was rude but didn’t know a way to censure the first woman. Maybe, “If anyone has had the time to learn how to act, it should be you.” Of course, rudeness hadn’t been a thing until she’d let it out.